


what do you do with a loving feeling? (you only love me when we're all alone)

by honeybeb



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Break Up, Cheating, Clubbing, Drowning, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Smoking, Toxic Relationship, and my god there's a lot of it, but its in a dream lol, dream is a total asshole lmao, george is just like fucking going through it man, no beta we die like tommy lol, there's a little teensy bit of karlnap as well, this was a bitch to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29880708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeb/pseuds/honeybeb
Summary: "Everything always brings him back to Dream.And he lets himself be dragged back every time."Or...George is sick and tired of being Dream's dirty secret.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 163





	what do you do with a loving feeling? (you only love me when we're all alone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smologan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smologan/gifts).



> for logan: yk honestly i feel a lil weird ab gifting this to you since it's such heavy angst but you are such an inspiration and motivator to me and i really just love you so much sdlkfjskl /p also yk ,, mitski and you go hand in hand this is kinda similar to that one idea you told me ab that i was gonna write skljdfk so yeah!! *hands you this* i love you, go cry 
> 
> title from a loving feeling - mitski (also the inspiration for this fic and i listened to that song on r e p e a t during writing) 
> 
> also READ TAGS PLS!! this is all kinda heavy sfslkj

George lazily props himself up on his arms, watching as Dream slides himself out of bed, quickly putting on his shirt and jeans. 

“What’re you doing?” He murmurs, words slightly slurred by sleep. 

Dream just looks back at him with a plastic smile and leans in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. 

“You know how it is.” He says, already walking over to the door. 

George watches him leave the room and shut the door, not even bothering to give a proper goodbye. 

“Oh. Okay.” George says to no one in particular. 

He flops back on his bed and stares at the ceiling for a second, eyes looking for some sort of meaning in the gray water damage marks creeping their way across the pretty white paint, but he quickly gives in to boredom and grabs his phone. 

He scrolls through Twitter, then Instagram, and is about to try and go back to sleep when a message shows up on his screen. 

_dream: sry i left so abruptly_

_dream: i just rly dont want fundy to find out_

George pauses, hovering his thumb over the message before opening it. 

He quickly types out a response. 

_george: yeah ik it’s okay :]_

_george: i get it_

Just as he’s about to throw his phone to the other side of the bed and hopefully not have to deal with any more shit tonight, there’s a reply. 

_dream: ik you do, thanks <3 _

A bubble pops up to show that Dream’s typing, then stops, then shows up again. George groans. 

_dream: yk i love you right_

_dream: it’s just ,,_

_dream: complicated_

Complicated. Yeah, it’s definitely fucking complicated. 

_dream: but you’re the one i really care about george_

George scoffs under his breath, but somewhere in his chest, his heart aches for him to say that again.

_george: then call off the engagement_

_george: or something_

Or anything really. Anything to show him that he’s not some dirty little secret, reserved only for lapses in judgment, the quiet jangling of keys at 5 am, and muffled moans through thin walls. 

_dream: you know i can’t do that_

George’s heart sinks a little lower than it already was. 

_dream: why would you say that_

_dream: is me loving you not enough for you or something lol_

George winces at the words on the screen and rushes to fix them. 

_george: no no it’s not that_

_george: it would just be nice to not have to sneak around_

His eyes burn at the brightness of the screen in the dark room as he awaits a response. 

_dream: yeah i get that :c_

_dream: get some sleep george, im sure you’ll feel better in the morning_

He’s probably right. 

He’s usually right. 

He says goodnight and clicks off his phone before rolling over and letting sleep overtake his tired body. 

\--

The morning air is foggy and thick as George sits on the stoop outside of his apartment building, knees pulled to his chest and cigarette held delicately in his fingers. The sun has barely started to rise over the horizon and the city is quiet. It’s nice.

He brings it to his mouth and lets the smoke travel down his throat and fill his lungs with the familiar soft burn. 

He exhales, long and slow, and tries to think of what to do for the day. 

From 9 to 2 he’s got work at the cafe, so that’s good, but there’s a lot more hours in the day than his 6-hour shift that he’s got to fill with things, people, and really anything but himself. Not having those hours filled leaves him in his apartment, alone with his thoughts and whatever booze he’s got laying around. That always fucking sucks. 

His free hand reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out his phone and scrolls through his messages. 

Quackity, Sapnap, Karl...he pauses over a contact. Dream. 

Dream hasn’t texted him since he left early the other day. 

He shakes his head, like if he does that it’ll physically remove the thought from his head, and scrolls up to clicks on Sapnap’s contact. 

_george: heyy sappynap_

_george: what are u doing tonite_

He takes another long drag from his now dying cigarette and stares, waiting. 

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to wait long. 

_sapnap: ugh i hate you don’t call me that_

George snickers under his breath. 

_sapnap: the gang is going out tonight if u wanna come_

_george: and who exactly is “the gang”_

_sapnap: me, karl, dream, quackity, and i think bad sad that he would come too_

_sapnap: not sure ab bad though lmao_

Oh.

Dream. 

Okay. 

He can handle that. 

_george: ill be there, text me the details later_

He stands up and drops the cigarette butt on the ground, quickly stamping it out before hauling open the heavy door to the building and walking inside. 

As he walks up the few flights of stairs to his apartment, his phone buzzes. He stops for a second and opens the new message from Sapnap. 

_sapnap: oh and fundy might be going too :]_

He curses under his breath and stuffs his phone back into his hoodie pocket. 

Why does he have to be everywhere George goes? Why does he have to infiltrate what feels like every single part of George’s life? 

He’s probably being irrational, and if he’s being honest, Fundy hasn’t done anything to George to make him hate him. 

But he hates him nonetheless. 

The door slams a little too hard into the doorframe as he kicks it closed behind him. Not that he really cares. Shitty apartment. Smells like Dream even though he’s never even there. 

George flops onto his bed and checks the time. 

6:47

He’s got tons of time. 

He shuts his eyes and falls asleep. 

\-- 

He did not have tons of time, as it would seem. 

People seem to multiply as he pushes through them, quickly checking the time as he spots the cafe at the end of the road. 

He’s so, so very late to his shift. 

Again. 

Fuck. 

He checks the road for cars then quickly dashes over to the other side, the bell on the door jangling loudly as he enters. 

“You’re late again.” A gruff, monotone voice calls out from behind the counter. 

George just huffs and brushes past the pink-haired man, pulling the apron with his nametag on it off the hook and sliding it over his head. 

“I know.” 

Luckily for George, it doesn’t seem like his presence was much needed in his absence, as only a few people sit quietly around the cafe. 

“You know, I’m gonna hav’ta fire you if you keep showing up late.” Techo says, only half-joking. 

George just shakes his head and sighs as he goes into the back room to sign in for his shift. 

“I know, I know.” He pokes his head through the doorway to look at Techno. “I’ll be on time next time, okay? I swear. 

Techno mumbles something under his breath that George doesn’t quite catch, but he assumes it’s probably something along the lines of “That’s what you say every time.” 

Hey, it’s not his fault that he always seems to sleep through his alarms. 

Well, maybe it is, but it’s definitely not his fault that his body (and mind) seem to be in a perpetual state of exhaustion. 

He finishes clocking in and walks over to the register and pulls out his phone, lazily scrolling through social media. 

He stumbles upon a picture that Dream had posted a couple weeks ago, of him and George at a bar. You can’t see it in that photo, but out of frame, his hand was wrapped tight around George’s waist. 

He winces at the gentle smile on Dream’s face, calm and relaxed from the many drinks that they’d had that night. 

His skin itches and he wants nothing more than to go out back and smoke his whole pack. 

Anxiety pools at the bottom stomach and wriggles around his organs, the sick feeling reaching its long claws into every inch of his body. He drags his nails over the skin of his hand in an attempt to calm down and considers asking Techno if he can take his break early. 

Which Techno would definitely not agree to, seeing as he got to work less than 10 minutes ago. 

He’s snapped out of those thoughts by the loud jangle of that annoying fucking bell on the door as a customer walks in. He sighs and straightens his back, putting on his customer service smile and the light cheery voice to greet the man in front of him. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

The next few hours are spent similarly, fake smile and same words spoken over and over again to the people who come in, order their drinks, and leave. It’s monotonous and dull, with only a few words exchanged between him and Techno every now and then, and after a while it all blends together to make a coffee-scented, anxious haze. The customers aren’t even real people, just blank faces and garbled voices. 

He stands behind the register, hands balled together and eyes glazed over and looking off into the distance. He’s tired. He misses Dream. He needs a cigarette. Suddenly, he’s jolted from his thoughts by the loud buzz of his phone. He jolts up and opens his phone, and right on time, there’s a text from Dream. 

_dream: i heard you’re coming tonight_

_dream: don’t_

George’s hands shake slightly as he reads over the text. 

_dream: it’s not that i don’t want you there, trust me george i do_

_dream: it’s just fundy will be there and well yk_

_dream: and you’re just so very tempting, i don’t know how i’d be able to keep my hands off of you the whole night lol_

George half scoffs, half giggles at the stupid attempt at flattery, though he can’t deny that it sort of worked. He’s definitely not as mad as he was when he got the first text, but he wants more. He always does. 

_george: you’re stupid_

_george: ill think about it_

Dream won’t like that. 

Good. 

He quickly shuts off his phone and shoves it back into his apron pocket. The phone starts to buzz loudly, again and again, and George knows that his stupid, petty plan worked. He quickly puts it into silent mode and goes back to work.

Relief from the never-ending hell comes in the form of a lunchtime smoke break with Techno at the back entrance of the cafe. George walks out a bit after him and doesn’t even have to ask, Techno’s already holding out a cigarette for him. George nods to show thanks and takes it from him, lighting it with his own lighter and taking a long drag, holding the hot smoke in his lungs for a second. 

“It’s a bad habit, you know.” Techno says after a few minutes, gently crushing his cigarette in the little pink ashtray they keep out there.

George nods. “I know.”

He puffs out a cloud of smoke and coughs quietly for a second. 

“Keeps me calm though.” 

Techno just laughs under his breath. 

“There are better ways to do that George, ways that don’t involve voluntarily getting cancer.” 

George rolls his eyes and mutters, looking away from him. 

“Hypocrite.” 

Techno sighs and waves towards the door. 

“Break’s over.” 

  
  


\-- 

  
  


The door seems a bit more unsteady on its hinges as George closes it with a bit more force than he intends, and says a silent apology for taking his frustration out on it again. 

He immediately drops his bag and keys on the floor, waltzing over to the kitchen. 

His eyes scan the shelves for something to eat and realizes he probably should have picked something up from the cafe as he takes in the lack of food and the overabundance of alcohol in the fridge.

He’s probably got a problem. 

He chuckles into the empty air at the thought. 

It’s not like he cares anyway. Plus, it’s not a problem if it helps you. 

Right?

He glances at the clock on the wall across the kitchen and then back at the open wine bottle in his fridge. 

2:45. 

He meets Sapnap and them at the club at 9. 

Well, he thinks as he grabs the bottle and takes a hefty swig, it’s never too early to pre-game. 

He walks slowly and lazily to his room, his grip on the neck of the bottle threatening to slip multiple times. 

He flops back onto his bed and giggles, taking a few more sips of the wine and studying the ceiling. 

He shivers and sits up, the chill of the room seeping into his skin. He puts the bottle on the nightstand next to his bed and pulls off his thin t-shirt, walking over to his closet. 

He runs his fingers across the assorted shirts, sweaters, and hoodies in the closet before stopping over one. It’s a warm, black, hoodie and he runs his hand over the fabric hesitantly before snatching it off of the hanger and tugging it over his head. He bunches up the fabric in his fists and brings it to his face, taking a deep breath in. 

It smells like fabric softener (not the one that George uses), cigarettes, cologne that’s way too out of his price range, and Dream. 

Everything always brings him back to Dream.

And he lets himself be dragged back every time. 

He decides that he’s thinking too much and that his thoughts are being a bit too loud for his taste, and walks over to the nightstand, hastily grabbing the bottle and downing as much as he can. He lowers the bottle and takes a gasping breath, raising the sleeve of the big, soft hoodie to his mouth and wiping away the dribble of wine next to his mouth. 

He crawls into his bed and somewhere in his chest he can feel the urge to cry, to fall apart and shatter into a million pieces and break so hard he can never be fixed again, but that seems like a lot of effort. Too much effort. 

So he just sits, and looks at nothing. 

And nothing looks back at him. 

And after a period of time that could’ve been 8 minutes, half a second, or even an hour, the nothingness of the off-white walls fades into the nothingness of sleep. 

Sleep has always been an escape for George, a way to distance himself from his problems without actually having to do anything. Most of the time sleep brings him peace and a blank mind, but it would seem that today that is not the case. 

Today, his problems follow him into his deep, tired slumber. 

Today, his problems dig their sharp claws and razored teeth into the fabric of the hazy, alcohol-fueled nightmare that fills his sleep. 

Today, his dreams are in a chapel, two figures holding each other in a tight embrace as he watches from afar. 

Today, his mind is filled with pictures of a flooded room, him inside. 

Today, he sits, unable to move, as the water spills into his mouth and down his throat, filling his lungs. 

\--

There’s sweat on his brow when he wakes, body shivering and cold even under his thick blankets as he tries to recall the contents of his dream. 

It’s hazy, and as he rubs his arms in an attempt to calm the adrenaline rushing through his body, he can’t help but be a little grateful that he doesn’t really remember the dream. 

He sits up and looks out the small window across the room and notices how the sky has darkened. 

He rubs his tired eyes and slowly pulls his tired body out of bed. 

\-- 

The club is filled with hazy smoke and loud voices as George flashes his ID to a bouncer and walks through the open doors. 

He blinks his eyes rapidly at the sudden assault on his senses, loud bass thumping loudly around him and reverberating through the walls of the dark club.

As he refocuses his eyes, he tries to make out any familiar faces in the crowds of people dancing near the stage and clumped near the bar. 

He steps forwards a bit, feet cautious and light at the unfamiliar environment surrounding him when a strong hand grabs his shoulder. 

“George!” A familiar voice cries out as he turns around to see Sapnap standing right behind him. 

He barely registers the face and body standing in front of him as Sapnap before he’s pulled into a crushing hug. 

“Dude where the hell have you been?” George pushes Sapnap off of him and chuckles. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s not like I died or anything, calm down.” He says, laughter between his words. 

“I know, I know, but I swear all you do lately is hang out with Dream.” 

He nudges George with his elbow. 

“Better watch out or Fundy’ll come for your ass.” He teases, but George tries not to cringe. 

It’s almost funny in a way. 

If only he knew. 

If George’s reaction shows on his face, Sapnap doesn’t seem to notice because he quickly moves on. 

He points a finger at a group of people lounging around next to the bar, raucous laughter that could be heard across the room coming from them. 

“Come on, everyone else is ordering drinks and shit over there, let’s go.” 

George breathes out and runs his hand through his hair as they walk over to the bar. 

Tonight’s supposed to be fun. 

It will be fun. 

He’s not going to let Dream (or even himself for that matter) stop him from having a good night. 

Or at least, that’s what he thinks, until he sees Dream turn around and look him right in the eye and George wants to melt into his touch and bend to his will. 

His arm rests lightly on the bar and his hair flops over his face in that stupid way that George loves and he’s thrown back to the exact moment when they met. 

“Hi, George.” 

\-- 

_“Hi, George.” Dream says, voice smooth and low, with a richness to it that makes George want to put it on repeat._

_He extends his hand out to George, and George takes it, surprised at the strength of his grip._

_“Nice to meet you.”_

_The handshake slows, but their hands linger there for longer than they should as their eyes remain locked._

_“Yeah, you too.” George says, starstruck and breathless._

_Dream drops his hand and his eyes crinkle as he lets out a soft laugh._

_He waves towards the crowd of moving bodies and the waving strobe lights._

_“Wanna dance?”_

_“Of course.” George breathes out._

_Dream smiles and brings a hand to George’s chin, raising it up closer to his face._

_George can feel his breath on his skin and aftershave bites his nose._

_His thumb gently runs over his mouth and Dream whispers._

_“You’re gorgeous.”_

_A piece of George breaks a little and he’s never felt more alive in his entire life._

\-- 

George recognizes the look on Dream’s face as he gives the cold hello. 

The bone-chilling anger masked by a facade of disinterest. 

The facade always cracks eventually. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” He says flippantly, and George watches as he wraps his arm around the shoulder of the man standing next to him and gently places a kiss on his head. 

Fundy looks up from his phone and smiles at Dream, before looking over at George. 

“Oh, hi George!” He says. “Nice to see you.” 

George wants nothing more than to never hear his voice again. 

“Hey, Fundy, nice to see you too.” He forces out, though he can hear the tension in his own voice as the words leave his mouth. 

Fundy smiles at him, soft and sad, and George knows that he can feel his disdain for him. 

He probably shouldn’t be blaming Fundy for all of this, but who will that leave him to blame? 

He can’t blame Dream for any of this either, he always says that this shit is out of his control, and George thinks he’s probably right. 

He usually is. 

So who does that leave, but himself?

That train of thought is abruptly stopped and thrown off the rails by someone yelling at George. 

“Ay, George!” Quackity calls out, walking over to where George stands. 

“You fucker! You’ve really got to come out more, I’m always left with these two idiots.” He gestures over at Karl and Sapnap. 

Karl seems to be cheering Sapnap on as the younger tries to chug a beer as fast as he can. He finishes and wipes his mouth before letting out a whoop and pulling in Karl for a kiss. 

Quackity giggles and looks back at George. 

“Fuckin’ idiots.” 

George watches for another second longer as the couple laugh and giggle together, saying things that George can’t quite make out, and they just look so painfully happy and so free with their love in front of all these people. 

He needs a fucking drink. 

He taps Quackity’s shoulder then leans over to look for a bartender. 

“One second.” 

He waves his hand out, flagging down a bartender. 

“Vodka coke?” He says, and the bartender nods at him before leaving to go make the drink. 

“So, what have you been up to, my man? Shit, it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

Has it really been that long? 

George hadn’t noticed. 

“You know, the usual.” The bartender places his drink in front of him and he grabs it, taking a long sip. 

“Been kinda busy with work lately.” 

That’s a lie. 

Quackity nods, probably seeing through the flimsy lie. 

“Glad you could take a night off to hang out dude.” 

George takes another sip of his drink, nearly drinking the whole thing at once. 

Why did he think this would be a good idea? 

George notices that Dream has left the bar and has now disappeared into the large crowd of people dancing. 

Probably with Fundy. 

He fights a sigh and grabs the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 

He pulls one out, then holds the pack out to Quackity. 

“You want one?” 

Quackity shakes his head. 

“Nah man, Sapnap and Karl made me quit like a month ago.” 

“Oh.” He lowers the pack and shoves it into his back pocket, nodding. “Good for you.” 

Just as he’s about to light the cigarette, his phone buzzes and he pulls it out. 

_dream: meet me in the bathroom._

He clicks open the message and quickly reads over the texts that Dream has sent him from earlier this afternoon. 

_12:34 PM_

_dream: very funny george_

_dream: don’t come_

_dream: i mean it_

_2:09 PM_

_dream: ahaha you’re so sexy, respond to my messages_

_George chuckles._

_5:45 PM_

_dream: i know you love doing shit like this but come on_

_dream: you’re so childish god_

_dream: i bet you’re enjoying this so much_

_7:13 PM_

_dream: yk what whatever i don’t even care just don’t show up_

He grimaces, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. 

He clicks off his phone and downs the rest of his drink before turning to Quackity. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” 

He walks away before Quackity can say anything back. 

\--

The door to the bathroom swings open and it smells like piss, old beer, with a faint hint of vomit behind it all. 

Wonderful. 

Dream is on the other side of the dim, smelly bathroom and scrolling on his phone. 

George walks over to him. 

“I got your text.” 

“Oh did you?” Dream says, continuing to look at his phone. 

“Because you know I wasn’t sure that your phone was working after this afternoon.” 

George groans and pushes Dream’s phone down in an attempt to get his attention. 

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” 

Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth either. 

Dream looks down at him and scoffs. 

“Yeah right. You were ignoring me.” 

“Why didn’t you want me to come out tonight?” George says, dodging the last accusation. 

“You know why. You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you George?” His tone grows teasing, but bitterly so, as he asks the question. 

George looks away. 

“Why does it matter to you?” 

“The real question, George, is why does it matter to you?”

George splutters. 

“W-why does it matter to me? Are you fucking dense Dream?”

George turns around towards the door and waves his hand in dismissal.

“You know what? I’m gonna go dance. Fuck you.” He bites out. 

Dream grabs George’s wrist and violently pulls him back and kisses him. 

And that piece inside of him breaks a little more and he feels alive once again. 

Dream wraps his arm around the small of his back and pulls him closer to him, and George lets him, leaning into the touch. 

George’s eyes close and he relaxes a bit at the feeling of Dream’s lips on his. 

That is until he hears the door creak open. 

He goes to push Dream off, but Dream is two steps ahead of him and quickly breaks the kiss and steps back from him. 

But the damage has already been done and Karl stands in the doorway, hand still on the door handle and face flushed in embarrassment. 

“Oh my god-” He rushes. “I’m so sorry. I’m...I’m gonna go now.” 

The door slams shut as Karl runs away. 

Dream sighs and runs his hand through his hair. 

“I’m going to go and dance with my fiance and you are going to go make sure that Karl doesn’t tell anyone. Don’t talk to me while I’m with Fundy.” 

George stands still, trying to process the series of events that just happened. 

He stands there after Dream walks out and the door slams shut. 

He stands there until he wants to break shit and scream until his throat runs raw. 

He stands there until he doesn’t, and he’s sitting on the lid of a toilet in a dirty club bathroom, knees pulled to his chest, lit cigarette shaking in his thin fingers. 

Then he walks out and finds Karl in the crowded club. 

Karl is sitting on a stool next to the bar, watching Sapnap and Quackity. 

George walks over to Karl and places a light hand on his shoulder, forcing a meek smile onto his face. 

“Hey, Karl.” 

Karl quickly turns and looks at George like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Oh, hi George.” 

George fiddles with his lighter in his hands and tries to think of something to say. 

“So, uh, about what you saw in the bathroom…” George turns his head and looks at Dream, who’s now dancing with Fundy, arms wrapped around his back and pulling him close. 

The little alive spark inside of George dies. 

So what better to do than to make it come back? 

He turns to Karl. 

“You know what? Never mind.” 

He laughs, but there’s no joy behind it as he pushes past the people in, moving through the crowd towards Dream. People mutter under their breath and swear at him, but he can’t hear them. 

He walks right up to Dream, grabs his t-shirt, kisses him with all of the rage his tired body can muster, and walks away. 

He vaguely hears Dream yell at him as he walks away, but disregards it. 

And as he walks home, he’s torn between mania, giddy from the high of finally doing something to fuck over Dream, and anxiety over what’s to come set deep in his stomach. 

\-- 

George is woken to an awful fucking headache and the buzzing of his apartment intercom. 

The buzzing pauses and he winces and the sunlight beaming in through his window, right onto his face. He rolls over, away from the window, and starts to go back to bed, until the buzzing starts again. 

He rolls over and checks the time. 

6:35 

Who the fuck is trying to get into his apartment this early? 

He lays in bed and watches his ceiling, silently hoping that the buzzing will stop and he can just resume his much-needed sleep. 

But of course, that doesn’t happen. 

So he rolls out of bed and walks to the door, achingly slow and eyes mostly shut. 

When he finally reaches the intercom and presses the button to answer the call he nearly smashes the damn thing in at the voice that comes through the speaker. 

“George? Can we talk?” Fundy’s garbled voice squeaks out of the speaker.

George presses the mic button. 

“No. Fuck off.” 

He closes the call and starts to walk back to his bedroom and finally enjoy some peace, when it starts to buzz again. 

He sighs. 

His voice wavers as he answers the call and presses the mic button again. 

“Please Fundy, just leave me alone. I don’t want to do this. ” He pauses. “I can’t do this.” 

Fundy’s voice comes back and George can hear how he’s on the edge of breaking. 

“George, please.” 

George drags his hands down his face. 

“Fine.” He can hear his voice crack, but he still buzzes Fundy in. 

The call ends and he slumps down against the wall, nervously eyeing the door. 

And yet, even though his eyes stay locked on the door, waiting and expectant, he still jumps when the knock comes on the door. 

He exhales and stands up, pulling open the door. 

In his head, he knew that it was always going to be Fundy standing there in front of the door, but a part of him hoped that it would be Dream. A stupid part of him. 

That doesn’t stop the disappointment at the sight of the red-haired man in front of him though. 

He moves to the side and waves towards the inside of his apartment. 

“You gonna come in, or just stand there?” 

Fundy looks at him, then walks in and wrinkles his nose as George shuts the door behind him. 

“It smells like shit in here.” Fundy says bluntly. 

He knows. It smells like old booze and smoke. He’s tried to get rid of it. 

George yawns and walks over to sit on the couch. 

“Did you come here to talk, or just to insult the state of my apartment?” George deadpans. 

Fundy laughs a little under his breath. 

“Well, uh, no actually. I came to talk about Dream.” 

And there it is. 

What else would he be here to talk about?

George runs his hand through his hair and looks away. 

“Look, Fundy, I’m sorry. I should’ve told y-” 

Fundy cuts him off. 

“George, I already knew.” 

He sits down on the other end of the couch. 

“You really think I couldn’t tell?” He laughs and George can see him blink back tears. 

They sit silently for a second. 

“I called off the engagement this morning.” 

George’s head jerks towards Fundy, eyes wide. 

“What? Why?” George stumbles over his words. 

“Why?” Fundy says, exasperated. “Are you really asking why? It’s you, George, what else would it be?” 

George shuts his mouth. 

“I watched last night, as you kissed him and he didn’t pull away. I watched him watch you as you left. I watched him not give a single shit about me.” 

His voice is thin and keeps cracking as he struggles out the words. 

George tries to formulate his thoughts into a sentence. 

“But the whole time we were together he told me that he was keeping it a secret because he loved you.” George whispers. 

“He lied! He fucking lied, because that’s all he does George. He lied about loving me, he lied about the affair, he lied to everyone, including you!” Fundy yells, standing up from his spot on the couch. 

A little voice in his head tells him that Fundy’s wrong, that Dream would never lie to him about something like that. 

He chooses to ignore that voice. 

Fundy sighs and sits down again. 

“I hate you. I really shouldn’t because I know this isn’t really your fault, but I do. I fucking hate you, George.” 

George laughs, and it’s bitter and sad. 

“You know, I feel the exact same way about you.” 

They laugh together for a bit before it slows and the silence grows between them once more. 

“Dream seemed pretty pissed after last night. He’ll probably come round’ later to talk to you.” He stands up and starts to walk towards the door. 

“Bye George.” He laughs. “I hope I never see you again.” 

George chokes out a laugh, trying to ignore the sinking pit in his stomach at the thought of talking to Dream. 

“You too.” He says as Fundy opens the door and doesn’t quite shut it behind him.

George walks over to his kitchen and pours a shot of vodka, appreciating the burn that it brings as he downs it.

\--

Fundy is right. 

Dream does come by to talk to him. 

And George doesn’t let him in. 

He locks the door to his apartment and walks downstairs to meet him. 

He stands in front of the apartment building, arms crossed as he tries to hide himself with his sweater. 

“What do you want, Dream?” 

Dream steps forwards to grab George’s arm but George shies away from the touch, and he drops his hand dejectedly. 

“You know what I want.” He looks at George with that stupid, soft look on his face. “You.” 

George tries not to look at him, and fails. 

“Fundy said you lied. I don’t know whether to believe him or you.” 

Dream just looks at him with those pretty green eyes. 

George falters and falls back on one of the few things he knows how to do. 

“Do you want a smoke?” He pulls out his pack and takes a cigarette out, then offers the pack to Dream. 

“Sure George.” 

The way he says his name is like ecstasy. 

George lights his cigarette. 

He hands the lighter out to Dream. 

“Do it yourself, fucker.” 

Dream laughs at that, and it seems real, and it seems genuine, but so has everything else Dream has done. 

George puffs out a big cloud of smoke towards the taller man. 

Dream lights his and they sit next to each other on the stairs, quiet and tense. 

George watches the ashes fall from his cigarette and stares as they fall, floating to the ground. 

“I’m breaking up with you.” 

He mutters. 

“Sure you are.” Dream chuckles and takes a long drag. 

George rubs the hem of his sweater between the fingers of his free hand. 

“No, I mean it this time.” He whispers. 

“No,” Dream says back, more forceful this time. “you aren’t.” 

George watches as he tries to mask the anger with light humor. 

“You love me too much to do that.” 

George nods. 

He kind of does. 

But it hurts him too much to stay. 

He realized that after last night. 

“I thought I did.” 

“I do love you. A lot. Probably always will, at least a little.” 

Dream stands up. 

“George, shut up.” 

George also stands up, dropping the cigarette on the ground and gently stomping it out. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t be, but I am.” 

Dream grabs George’s wrist. 

“You’re not doing this.” 

George sighs and rips his hand from Dream’s grasp, rubbing where his large fingers had just been. 

Dream steps back and stomps out his cigarette before throwing his hands up. 

“Fine! You’ll come running back in a few days. I don’t care. I can wait.” 

George sighs, and rubs his eyes. 

He’s tired. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” 

He turns and starts to walk inside. 

Dream cracks. 

“You know what? Fuck you, George. If you leave you’ll be alone. No one will ever love you. You’re unlovable. ” He bites out. 

George turns back to look at him. 

“Fundy was right about you being a liar.” 

He walks away before Dream can try and get in the last word and makes a mental note to get the locks changed on his door as he walks up the stairs. 

He closes the door behind him, gently this time, and as he slumps down against it, he lets himself cry. 

He lets himself sob, and break down, and break, and it feels so good.

Somewhere inside him, that piece of him that _needed_ Dream to feel alive shatters. 

And it feels so good. 

  
  


_What do you do with a loving feeling_

_If they only love you when you're all alone?_

**Author's Note:**

> GOD i put so so much work and effort into this, i have literally spent all week laboring away at this bsfdklsj and i rly hope you guys like it!! it's also my longest fic ,, to date ,, lol 
> 
> if you liked this drop a kudos or comment, they mean a lot to me :DD  
> also!! if you wanna hear ab new fics n shit here's my [twitter!!](https://twitter.com/honey_beb_)


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